


Operation Liberation

by optimouse



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: BDSM AU, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:52:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optimouse/pseuds/optimouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>:  In May of 2012, Loki of the Asgard decided to attack New York City, and the Avengers formed to stop him.  His act of violence made others with similar goals suddenly decide to place them into action, including an organization that wished to reignite a war. Their weapon of choice? The Winter Soldier.  </p><p>Written for BDSM Big Bang. Betaed by Ladyholder and Keira Marcos. Thank you for your help and patience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Part One 

_75 years ago today eight protesters, five of whom were submissives were killed by the police, members of the New York Police Department, brutally beaten to death. Their crime? Public protest of the trial of another submissive, Timothy Kearns was sentenced to a public death by flogging._

_Elise Smith, Nathan Anders, Audrey Stevens, Michael Keats, Latham Schmidt, John Bartholomew, Aaron Wentz, and Avery Sands had protested the State of New York versus Kearns, armed with signs for the week of the trial. On the day that the jury’s decision was announced, there was a crowd with them of about thirty people._

_There were no identified subs on the jury, due to the fact that submissives were not considered voting citizens. That fact subsumed the whole trial; the defendant could not hire a lawyer, present evidence on his behalf, or even speak in court. Twenty five years later, witness statements were recanted in a sweeping review of the case by a civil rights lawyer. Micah Stateham’s work on the trial revealed that the family of the supposed victim, Mr. Ke­­arn’s registered Dom, spent money on creating witnesses and hiding medical records. Through Stateham’s work, the case was overturned, and a posthumous pardoned granted to Kearns._

_The protesters were members of a loosely affiliated group that would later become the group known to history as Equality Now. Armed with signs and slogans, the group protested the impending execution of a victim of domestic violence for self defense._

_Police at the courthouse were asked to silence the protesters before the radio coverage crews spoke to them. The officers involved, according to those in the area, spoke with two of the leaders, Elise Michael Keats and Audrey Stevens. Words were exchanged, and one of the officers pistol whipped Keats. Most of the group of protesters stayed, eleven were beaten, and eight died. Three were hospitalized._

_Seventy five years later, this is considered to be one of the earliest beginnings of the Civil Rights movement. At the time, the police officers involved were fined half of a month’s pay for public discriminate violence._

_Next week, Senator Nathan Bartholomew will be dedicating a memorial in front of the courthouse to the Kearns Eight. His grandfather, John, died in the violence, spurring his Domme to be one of the loudest, oldest voices in Equality Now. Micah Stateham and his sub will also be in attendance, as will the Senator’s mother, Elise, who has spoken on the subject, and her mother’s Ephemeral Equality speech, will be lighting the eternal flame to be housed in the memorial._

_-Hannah Thomas, TIME magazine, September 12, 2012_

 

 

Steve had attended the baseball game that was on the radio. True, it, and the room was a reasonable facsimile of what he remembered, but the situation in whole was alarming.

The unit’s hospital had been an interlocking chain of tents. The doctors had spent as much time as possible keeping the ward clean, but the tents were pitched on dirt. They did the best they could, but dirt meant mud, and it was always raining in those days. He had heard once that there were wards hosted in churches and such in towns the Allies held, but he’d never seen one.

Steve assumed though that at least the wards would be that grey/brown that seemed to pervade the war, and the white sheets, white walls, starched white peaks of her hat, all of it was wrong, wrong, wrong.

There were other things. Only generals were put in a room by themselves, not even Captain America got that privilege.

She really was the kicker though, that nurse. Perfect makeup, pretty, subby. All of that was right. It was the stacks of diamonds on her collar and the rings on her left hand.

Steve had barely seen one diamond at a time when he was growing up in Brooklyn, let alone diamonds that big or that shiny.

Times Square had changed. He had marveled at the echoing size of Hydra’s ship, at the depths of the canyon below as Bucky had fallen.

The lights of the city did not dance and glow above him, the face of America in lights spread high above him. It would be a day far in the future when things made him smile again the way they once had. An art student moved only to sadness by the images and how they had changed was a student damaged.

“How did you know, Captain?” The man in the suit asked. The man in a black leather coat now walked beside them. “I did my research.” He gave the impression of tight control, but his presence was muffled by Fury’s. “Oh, I’m Agent Coulson. Phil.” He offered a hand to shake.

Steve managed a tight bow, avoiding the hand. Some things were too tightly engrained in him. Doms who were. Subs weren’t allowed to serve, therefore he wasn’t a sub. “All nurses in the medical corps that were subs were either collared by a military Dom or doctor, otherwise they wore government collars. The military collars all had the bars and stripes of their Doms’ ranks, and the doctors’ collars had the caduceus. No wedding rings.”

“And Sharon’s collar is gold, with three stacks of diamonds. Her Dom is a scientist,” Coulson stated.

“Government collars were utilitarian, ugly, and had a US flag on them.” Steve had hated those collars, felt the phantom around his throat. “No privately collared sub except for those collared by those in service to said government.”

“Not anymore.” Fury ha dark, graveled voice echoing with implications. “Things have changed.”

On the sidewalk a pair of police officers stood to the side. One wore a collar, and both were speaking to a waitress, also collared.

“I had guessed.” That was April, before the world turned, and the Avengers formed out of the ashes of Times Square.

* * * * 

The ball bounced. Four feet round and nostril-flaring neon pink, it bounced off of the steaming macadam and exploded. More bouncing, more pink, but these were missiles. Everywhere. They looked horrible against a September sky, and made the Avengers, barely a cohesive unit, quite nauseous. Maybe that was just Steve, though.

From the shelter of an overturned yellow taxi, Steve winced. Those secondary missiles would bounce, and then lift to mid air, whirring with blades. They bounced off of the sides of things, embedding and tearing to cause damage.

Steve had already caught one across the ribs.

“Cap!” Tony’s armor as Iron Man protected him, but it didn’t keep those little bastards from proliferating. “Do you think that you can disable the mother ship?”

That particular pink monstrosity sat in midair, pouring out trouble. It was seamed with panels, unlike its contents. Also differently from the contents, a blast from Iron Man’s thrusters did not cause it to melt.

With Black Widow managing the evacuation, Thor and Hawkeye were keeping that area safe from harm.  Bruce was in the lab trying to figure out this latest attack on New York. With everyone else busy, it wasn’t a real choice.

“You’re going to need to drop me into that mother ship. That Queen.”

Steve hated this part. Flight preceded freezing, preceded death, neither loss were experiences he intended to repeat.

Through the padding of his armor, he could feel the Iron gauntlets as Iron Man lifted Captain America into the air.

Just because one thing followed another, Bucky had said, did not mean that they were caused by the first. _Cum hoc ergo propter hoc._  Where would Bucky have learned Latin, anyway?

“I hope that’s a plan,” their earpieces buzzed. “And not a retreat. Doctor Banner informs me that the missiles are powered by the mother ship.It looks like t same engineers are responsible as that group of tech spiders two days ago.” They had tried to pull down houses in Queens, not explode in Manhattan.

“The queen.” Brevity was a joy at times. “Is impervious to Iron Man’s thrusters. He’s dropping me into the maw.”

“What!” The earpiece  squawked. “Those missiles could kill you.” Somewhere in SHIELD’s headquarters, the technician on duty today was having a fit. Steve thought that it was Bill today, but he could never keep the rotations straight in the on call room. Special situations qualified for their main handler, Agent Lewis’ attentions but today’s attack was more of a garbage run. It was Hawkeye who had first called these penny ante attacks by that name

“They’re inert inside the Queen.” Out of breath, he must have rushed to turn on the lab’s intercom. It’s clear to Steve that Bruce has been listening the whole time. “Otherwise, the Queen would have exploded quite early in the attack. So Cap, I think that you should…”

“Make something explode inside?” Those little pink balls exploded as easy as pie, but getting the grenades inside the machine would be the problem.

“Well, I would have said ‘cause maximum damage.” Banner’s voice is tinny. “But if you think that an explosion will work.”

“I have met very few things.” Steve grins as he paraphrased another Commando. “That can walk away from a grenade.”

They’re hovering over the Queen, and he can feel Iron Man clutch at his uniform before he drops.

It’s a dive, one hand over his head and steering his descent, the other pulling two grenades loose.  His earpiece sputters and hisses with Mission Control furious on the other end. SHIELD's not in the field right now, and Steve thinks that they can just button their lip and not butt in. He'd heard their Handler shout it at Clint before: backseat drivers have no say.

Inside the maw, surrounded by the potential destruction and holding a set of Howard Stark’s specials was probably the wrong place to be. Howard had handed those babies over to the Commandos and said 'maximum boom, minimum fuss.' They were glorious! All Steve knew was that Howard had always said to pull the pin, and then he had ten seconds to get out of the blast radius. One of these babies had brought a HYDRA outpost to pieces in Poland. A second had shattered a transport van in Northern Italy.

Steve had pulled the pins before the grenades had left his belt.

 

* * * *

  
“What was that?” The other Dom sometimes scared the shit out of Tony. Granted, he dealt with terror the same was he dealt with anything else.

“A grenade.” Three hours after the situation ended, the Avengers and their substitute handler were in one of SHIELD’s situation rooms. Their planet-bound headquarters were in New York, and Tony had offered them several floors of Stark Tower. Fury still had the headquarters four blocks from the tower, even if the Avengers were slowly consolidating their operations in the top three floors of Stark Tower.

“I know that. What I don’t know is why you saw fit to drop it, and Cap, together.” Furious. Of course a man named Fury, Tony pulled back his chuckle, was furious. The type of angry that had gesticulating hands and a louder voice.

“In Tony’s defense, that’s the first grenade that I’ve ever seen that didn’t cause major damage to the flesh.” Bruce is still glaring at Tony. The man couldn’t still be pissed about having all of the juice in his apartment replaced with Naked’s Green Machine? It was a joke! “I went over the footage again, the air pulsed blue in the moments before the grenade exploded. I’ve never seen that tech before.”

“And you never will again.” Tony keys  up the files. He’d scanned the file from some of his Dad’s early blueprints into JARVIS years before. “Most of it is classified, SSR experiments. The weapons were non-standard issue. Howard designed a set of non-lethal explosives: maximum boom and minimum ouch during the war. The explosives and everything else were used by the Howling Commandos and were lost after the Commandos were disbanded in the wake of HYDRA’s attack on New York.”

“Until now.” Fury states. “Why would the Cap have them?” Across the room, Thor is quiet, contemplative.

“He was a guerilla fighter.” Natasha’s voice was cool and even, rarely raised in anger. “The Red Room’s intel said that the Howling Commandos kept multiple stashes of weapons, cash, and IDs. Europe, the Russian border, the US. Unfortunately, the source’s information was not complete, and when several caches were encountered, they self destructed. “But that is not our concern.” Natasha pushed her chair back and swung her legs up and across each other on the table. “Fury, our concern should be that these attacks have no clear author, but have an obvious engineer in common. If the Captain kept some things hidden from the all-seeing eyes of SHIELD…”

“Congrats to the Captain.” Agent Lewisspeaks. “He’s in the infirmary, and one of the nurses just said.”

“I doubt that we should speak of this without the Captain.” Thor had not seen the cause, only the aftermath of the grenade. He breaks into Darcy’s sentence smoothly, and stands. “Should we not adjourn this meeting to the halls of healing?”

“No need, Thor.” All eyes turned to the man leaning against the doorframe. In a t-shirt and cargo pants, Steve could be any young Dom trying to find a scene for the night. “Once my wound was clean,” The thin white t-shirt was lifted to display the tan skin rapidly filling in concave crimson holes. Bruce went white, and Tony gulped at the picture he made. “I had worse during the war. Anyway, I agree with Agent Romanoff. Something is bugging me about these attacks.”

“Usually there’s a monologueing idiot paired with an attack.” Clint had sat through a few speeches while trying to set up a kill shot. “I think that they’re a distraction. A diversion.”

Fury is listening, and Agent Lewis is typing swiftly as she has been through the whole conversation, Tony noted. If Pepper could tempt her away from SHIELD, she would be a great asset to Stark Industries.

“From what?” Tony is shaking his head as he asks. “Jarvis, I want you to pull up significant crimes happening at the same time as the attacks.”

“What about events over the next few weeks?” Darcy nods at Natasha’s words,  agreeing with her assessment of the situation.

“Agent Romanoff is right. An enemy could easily be testing our strength, skills, and strategy with these attacks.” Above the table, Jarvis is displaying crime reports. Timestamps. Maps. “HYDRA used it. Heck, the Commandos used similar things.” Steve looks innocent, like young Dom tied into knots, not sure how to go about maturing into an adult. Pepper would scold him, but Tony thinks that the boy looks like a puppy. If the stories that Tony had heard from Obadiah about Howard as a much younger man were true, he can’t help but wonder what had kept his father from dragging the man into debauchery. Of all of his Dad’s stories about the man, few had touched on either dynamic or sex.

 

* * * *

 

Two months after Coulson was informed that Research would be handling the thaw and settlement of Captain America, Darcy Lewis had formulated Human Resources’ plan B.

 Every other department in SHIELD called the department that was once headed by Agent Coulson ‘the Handlers’ as an easy fix.

Coulson always had a plan B. Darcy’s preference, learned from the University of Financial Woes, was to have at least plans C & D complete. Her grandmother had always said that the plan of attack rarely survived the first encounter with the enemy.

Of course, there was no way that Research’s plan for handling the Captain’s thaw was going to end well. How the man’s acclimation to the modern world was handled later had set the pace for the Avengers Initiative.

At the least, she had thought to form the most complete personnel file for Captain America. Darcy Lewis had hoped it would make Phil smile. The Captain America stickers that she’d put on some of the sheets made her smile, even as the dossier had made her the most prepared woman in the room tonight.

Rogers had mentioned HYDRA when he’d spoken about the attack today. Darcy would start her research on the attack from there. What was going on that would be worth distracting the Avengers? Offhand, she could think of at least four different things.

Sometimes she thought that criminals were idiots. Did these villains truly think that the heroes did not also have minions to research for them?

 

* * * *

 

“This is dark. Dingy.” The man’s hair was silvering. It had remained a great bushed, but it looked to have been tamed with scissors and a touch of pomade. The man next to the agent is in a jumpsuit of heavy canvas.

“Ten years ago, our facility was bigger. Above the ground.” The technician’s beady black eyes remained trained on the computer screen, and not on the agent next to him. “Of course, ten years ago, I had to use a team of eight to operate the cryogenic machinery. Now I am the only man needed for this. Passwords, codes, and the computer does the rest of the work.”

“What should I know about the subject’s needs after this is complete?” Being the only man in the facility meant that when he met Lenore for lunch tomorrow he wouldn’t have to explain leaving early. It was so rare that he met another nice sub who was interested in science. They were going to have Chinese…it wasn’t decadent American capitalist faire, it was solid communist fair from their communist brethren. That would have been his excuse to the Dom that used to run his division ten years ago. His strong belief in the status quo had gotten him on the wrong side of the government.

“You need to feed him, keep him warm. His metabolism will be very fast to balance that it was very slow for the last eight years. Keep him calm. Away from anything that might trigger his base personality.”

 The technician thought that the originators of the project were idiots. They had tortured a Dom, written a new personality over his first, and instead of terminating him when he broke programming, only rewrote the code. But he was only a technician. Twenty years of service, he was a sub, and they barely listened. His fingers keyed in the last codes.

 

He was the last person, a survivor.

 

 “Agent Davros, get out of his way if his original personality breaks through.”

 

Below them, the Winter Soldier’s coffin-box opens, the chain attached to the lid being ratcheted around the pulley. The gears of an arm are visible, the hand clutching at the edge. “It’s closest while he’s just been out of cryo. Less than a week, even.”

 

“Thank you, comrade, for your service to Mother Russia?” Why are his hands covered in blood? The technician’s heart itches. Why is his sight going dark?

 

The man is left there, alone on the floor, a fallen book barely two feet from the counter he had hastily nudged it off of as Agent Davros moves towards the opened cryo box.

 

* * * *

 

He had always come across as far too subby to find an apartment when he and Bucky were looking so many years before. As a result, the whole of the work had been done by Bucky.

Seventy years later, that was no longer a problem. Steve no longer had that problem in his presentation,  that problem had been solved by Erskine’s formula.

Agent Coulson had explained about the equal housing opportunities acts. New York still had legal cases pending involving the acts, but the man assured him that he should have no issues.

After yesterday’s attack, Tony had tried to get him to move into the monstrosity that had barely survived Loki’s attack and the formation of the Avengers. Steve had agreed that he needed a place that wasn’t in SHIELD headquarters, but he didn’t want to live with his work. A very long time ago, he’d even spoken of it with their old handler.

Coulson offered a list of pre-vetted apartments. Bucky had once asked him why he hadn’t applied for the medical corps; he guessed that he had not quite avoided becoming government property in accepting Erskine’s formula, like the nurses had in the medical corps.

Peggy Carter had blown all of his expectations and understanding of dynamics away. The research he had done over the last few days had told him that the OSS had preferred that their agents eschew any indicator of dynamic, while hiring qualified candidates on both sides of the supposed line. All that he had known was that Peggy hit all of his triggers. While his squad mates at boot camp were trying to seduce her to their collars, all he’d wanted to do was impress her.

Bucky would have had a field day. Of course, Bucky had never quite realized that only half of the reason that Steve had wanted to follow him to war was to honor his country. Mum had said that sometimes men were dumb like that.

In this new time, Steve found himself thinking of Bucky, more than his time of war had allowed for two unbound by collars.

“So the rent is this?” He named a price that Coulson’s tutelage about inflation did not keep him from whimpering at.

Apparently, he had been placed on the MIA list, and had continued to receive combat pay as a result. Inflation and interest, two words that he remembered his mom whispering and muttering about at the kitchen table with her notebook full of expenses in front of her.

“Yes. It has the view that you asked for, sir.” She was a commanding little sub, wearing the bracelets that Coulson had taught him about. The sign of serious courting, that she wasn’t interested in entertaining offers, but wasn’t quite ready to collar with her Dom yet. The idea of a sub holding her own sovereignty while allowing the pretense that she knew who she would spend forever with, without taking the collar, it still took Steve aback. “Sir.”

“Call me Steve.” Subs had never ‘sir-ed’ him in his life before the serum. He had known better than to correct anyone then.

“Steve, then. You’d like a place with a view. But my understanding is that you’re a lot less interested in most of these places.” She looked significantly at the room they had just left. “The playrooms. And the person my secretary described, personality, dynamic, wording, that’s not you. What are you looking for in an apartment? Or what about a condo?” She coughed, fingered her bracelets. “What would you like, and not your Dom?”

Steve hacked into a cough like he hadn’t since his last asthma attack. Throat tight, his breath desperately fighting through a locked esophagus. _Bucky._

“I’m sorry.” Steve could feel her hands like birds upon his back. “I’m so sorry.” She was drawing circles with fingertips. Bucky had done that when he’d had an attack.

“My apologies,” he whispered the words as the serum forced the attack away, Steve wishing for the life of physical weakness so that he could indulge his emotional weakness in the fragility. “I did not mean to scare you, Miss Pikkha?”

“Did your Dom hurt you?” The blunt question from the little brown woman stumped him. He remembered Kearns’ verdict so vividly, and age where domestic abuse was tolerated, if not ignored.

Bucky had never collared him. Never hurt him. Not like Silas, Aunt Audrey’s Dom had hurt her. “No, he fell.” Bucky had never realized.

“Would he want you to hurt like this?” she asked.

“He.” He didn’t have the words. “He liked dancehalls. A big bed. We liked the Dodgers, never understood why they moved to LA. Brooklyn, not Manhattan. I never learned to drive. So the subway needs to be in walking distance.” He remembered the advertisement plastered across the side of the street on their search. “I will need a parking spot for my bike.” He hadn’t bought it yet, but it was planned.

“Any thoughts on housing type?”

“I would prefer not to do this again anytime soon.”

“I think that I know just the place.”

* * * *

It looked like the tenements in which he had grown up after his father died, other than that the whole area was scrubbed clean.

“The first floor is a boxing gym. The next five floors are condos, mostly inhabited by professionals. The sixth floor is empty, with an open floor plan and a large terrace.” Pikkha took them up an elevator in the back. “It’s three blocks from the subway and gets good light. The kitchen has all new appliances, it was rehabbed last year.” She coughed. “I’m not actually the condo’s rental agent, my sister owns the building, and that’s why I know that the unit is available. The tenant left after a long time here, and her heirs could use the money.”

* * * *

“On that note,” Fury put down his iPad, cueing the website for a memorial and looked at each of the Avengers. “Senators Bartholomew has requested that the Avengers keep the city empty of shenanigans for the event.”

“Who is Senator Bartholomew?” Thor asked, followed by another question. “Who are the Kearns Eight?”

“Senator Bartholomew is one of SHIELD’s greatest friends in politics.”

“The Bartholomews are an old New York political family.” Tony tried to explain, not thinking Fury’s words complete. “Nathan and I went to school together. His grandmother was great friends with my dad.”

“Your dad could be a pig,” Steve remembered. “But Lady Elizabeth was kind.”

“You knew Elizabeth Bartholomew?” Fury knew the answer to his question, but still the man made Steve's shoulders itch as he spoke of the past. Did the man want him to forget everything that had happened to him before he was unfrozen?

“She was involved in Erskine’s work.”

“The Kearns Eight,” Bruce tried to explain to Thor, echoing Tony and also failing. “Were a group of eight protestors beaten to death by the police. This was before World War II. One of the protestors was Senator Bartholomew’s maternal grandfather.”

“The protest was against the outcome of a trial in which a victim of abuse was sentence to death for self defense.” Natasha was abrupt. “The protestors thought that the jury was innately biased and that the defendant had no legal ability to prove his innocence was wrong.”

“Eleven protestors were beaten, and of those, eight died, including Elizabeth Bartholomew’s husband, collared sub, and father of her impending child,” Tony recalled. “My father was still alive for the fiftieth anniversary. At the time, a submissive could vote, but not hold a bank account.”

“Your world is unjust, Fury.”

“Thor, be that as it may, everyone’s on duty. Nothing can disturb the memorial.”

The last photo flickered in the air.

“With all due respect, Director, I cannot be on duty.”

“Rogers?”

“I’ve requested personal time off for that week.”

“Request denied.” Fury paused. “What is your reason to ask for the time off, Captain?”

“It is a personal matter, Director.  As your employee, I have some expectation of privacy in my personal life.” Steve tried to explain the issue. He didn’t want to speak of his reasons, justify that the time would be stressful for him. While he knew that he worked for the government, the government did not have any say in his personal life, in his time off duty. If this was a medical issue, they could know of the appointment made with the appropriate professional but not of the reason for the appointment. It was the same in his personal life.

“You are aware that without  more information, I cannot approve your request?” Fury ran an intelligence agency. To do that, he needed to have information on everything. The Captain would capitulate and inform him if he continued to block his request.

*****

 

 

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

_I used to think that the day Dad died was the worst that I had seen stained on my mother’s face. The officers who came to our apartment brought their hats in their hands, regrets, and letters outlining pensions._

_My mother today did not sob or cry as the police officers told her the news about Aunt Audrey, she just bit her lip, steeled her jaw, and held fast._

_They had wanted her to stay to identify my aunt in the basement. In the morgue. Mum’s face hasn’t been that pale since my Father’s commanding officer knocked on her door._

_The cops had torn her sister apart._

_Aunt Audrey had come to our apartment so long ago, and she was wan, pale, and bleeding. Father took one look at her and cursed. I had been so surprised. Dad only swore at the newspaper._

_Aunt Audrey cut her collar off. Uncle Silas tried coming by that night, and Dad beat him bloody, breaking him apart. I wonder if Silas will hear the news in the paper and try to claim her things._

_“Protection, possession, there is a difference between collared and being enslaved.” Dad had tried to teach me.” A difference between discipline and abuse.” I think that his father wore Obscurement. We lost the photos of Dad’s family in the move out of the base apartments and to the city, but Dad used to tell stories, and they all had his father in veils._

_Aunt Audrey was telling the cop to take a beating from someone you couldn’t legally leave before telling her to shut up. That’s what happened last night, and I don’t know if Mom knows that I was there or not._

_Her jaw shattered, his nightstick took her words._

_Michael threw a punch and I remember most of us just shutting down._

_Now my Mother just sits, her collar gleaming in the lamplight. We live on her widow’s pension and the mending. I think that the nursing work may stop now that Aunt Audrey’s dead, that the clinic may be shut down by the cops._

_Audrey Stevens died at barely thirty, having pulled together the strength to leave and help others. The cops broke her words, killed her body. But her beliefs? She died for them. My aunt died as a person, not property._

_\--These are the words of Steve Rogers, son of George and Mary Rogers, the only person from the courthouse steps that day to write of his experience. He was twelve, and his later writing shows that his aunt’s death haunted him. These words, written in 1937 are some of the few words of survivors of the attacks that have not been lost to time._

_Audrey Stevens is buried in a potter’s field, her sister could not afford to bury her._

_We view the Kearns Eight as martyrs, but they were people, subs, Doms, spouses, parents, aunts, siblings. They were more than protectors, one was a librarian, and another was a nurse._

_After seventy five years, Audrey’s family has a place to mourn her death._

_\--Joseph Calvin, ­ A History of the Kearns Eight and a Thesis on It’s Effects on Society, 2012_

_  
_

This new world disturbed him.

The motorcycle under Steve was simply one manifestation of that conclusion. He would pay taxes to be allowed to drive it, in conjunction with the taxes HR paid to own it. The paperwork that he had filled out to own it had even neglected to ask his dynamic status—though not his marital status.

Steve still remembered his mom being refused work at one of the hospitals because she did not have a Dominant. Aunt Audrey had found her a position at a clinic that didn’t care, but that refusal and its variants had stayed in his mind.

Yesterday, a fellow submissive had complained that his former boss had wanted him to wear a veil at work. Steve could remember when a submissive at work would have done what was ordered, simply happy that he or she had a job.

That was how his parents had met, through work. Mary Stevens had been in the nursing corps after she had graduated high school. She had been in one of the hospitals serving the Western Front when George Rogers had been introduced to her by a patient, one of his squad mates.

The chaplain had married them two months later, in the same ceremony that Mary accepted George’s collar.

Steve had taken Bucky to that chapel once while they were in occupied France.

He killed the engine, slid the machine into a parking space. Steve locked his bike and wished that there was something to lock it to. He needed to pick up more mechanical skills, Steve knew that there had to be something small in his bike that he could remove and no thief would be able to turn his bike on and drive it away. Bucky had guffawed at the care that he had taken with his first motorcycle. “You would think it was a courting gift.” It was an illicit joke, one that only Bucky could make.

A far off neon sign was gritty against the dark of the night, flashing lurid letters against the sky. Above Steve the brown brick building was far more discrete with their sign in gilded letters upon the wall.

Bucky had whispered stories of sex clubs in the shadows of their apartment. ‘Doms went there to relieve tensions with whores,’ James had licked Steve’s neck, ‘and with other Doms.’ There were even places somewhat like this House, with quiet rooms where a Dominant could learn how to create something that would satisfy the Dom all the time Houses that allowed a Dominant to understand themselves. Now, these places were open to submissives as well.

This place, there had been a discrete advertisement in a discrete magazine that Bucky had once bought with the last of their spending money. It had been a furtive purchase, and Bucky had read him chapters before Bucky went out courting. That magazine was now displayed, albeit on a high shelf. The subby bookstore clerk had barely blushed as Steve had bought it, even if he had blushed when Steve caught him with his eyes on Steve’s bottom.

Steve found himself with a man, a Dominant, in a secluded booth.  The pile of paperwork, the man, the shade of uniform in the man's clothing, all of it was an echo through time of things past. If he strained, he could hear Edith Piaf across a year, an ocean, and seventy years from a little bar in France, an illusion of time and memory. Bucky had sat across from him, the file on their next target in his hands as Steve had sketched him, mind absent of the record playing or the French spoken in that little, Resistance-friendly bar.

But there was no gentle hand circling Steve’s wrist, only fingers tapping on the table near to his hands to grab at his attention.

“Sir?” As always, that title could jolt him out of sleep. Pulls him high, fishing him out of his memories.

“My sincere apologies for drifting, Sir.” Steve stands, bows slightly when a hand is offered, but will not take the hand offered, cannot shake it. “Thank you for the appointment, Sir.”

“Dominick. Call me Dominick, or Nick should you prefer. You are inquiring about lessons here at the school?”

The Dominant, no, Nick, pulls the chair out, straightens it, and takes his place upon it. Steve follows suit on the booth chair.

“I am. One of my teammates did his training at L’Etreinte, and while I appreciate his strengths as a Dominant, I do not have many of the same wants or needs that he does.”

“Why here, at my House, Mr. Rogers?”

“Steve, please, Dominick. My father was Sergeant Rogers, I may be Captain Rogers, but in this, I am Steve.” In this, Steve was a person, not a part of a machine.

“There are other places, less extreme options for you to train as a Dominant, Steve. Your file shows no signs of sadism or masochism, nothing extreme at all.”

“Sir, Dominick.” He can feel the carpet under his knees, even though he has remained in his chair. Steve has not knelt to anyone save Bucky in years. “My file is incomplete. I was never tested.”

“Steve. Steven Rogers.” Dominick Belagazzo had served with SHIELD, which was one of the reasons that Steve was here. He had the clearances to read Steve’s file. Nick was flipping through the file, scanning dates, murmuring. “Oh. My. This was why Fury sent a team through here yesterday. Does he know?” Steve shivers following warm fingers brushing his chin, tilting his eyes up.

“I never declared, Sir. I wanted the Army, my mother died when I was fourteen, and my…well, when I was sixteen, I was in no shape to Declare.” Bucky didn’t want him to Declare, even if Bucky had. Of course, James had never said the words either, asking him either way, just circled Steve’s wrists with his hand, and pushed him to his knees. Steve had gone gladly.

“Why now?”

“I don’t have to Declare, Sir.” He allowed himself to follow Nick’s hands, to sit in his chair again. “I just want to understand myself, my dynamic more.”

“Privately. I’ll assume that Fury believes that you are a Dominant.” Steve would agree, though he had a suspicion that Coulson and Coulson’s assistant might think otherwise—they seemed to know everything. Like Peggy had.

  
“The Colonel tried to introduce me to a few unattached submissives.” Steve can feel his lip curl.

“Definitely not a switch, then.”

When Steve was a child, he’d seen a man shot in the street for calling another that.

“Well, then. We need to start figuring out everything, then.”

* * * *

“Jane, calm the fuck down.” The scientist’s hands were captured and held still. “I’ve found you a dress for the dinner, and I’ve made an appointment for you and I at Bloomingdales’ with a personal shopper.”

“How are you so calm? Darcy, Elizabeth Bartholomew’s work made it possible—“

“I am calm because appropriate planning allows me to muddle through when things go topsy-turvy.” Romanoff was coming in tomorrow, after the memorial but before Darcy had that meeting planned at L’Etreinte. Thankfully the agent would be providing a personal briefing of what she remembered of her training at the hands of the Red Room. “Planning, and a good bra, Doctor Foster.”

“What do I wear to the Bartholomews’, anyway?”

Not what Natasha had worn to interrogate that Latvian diplomat. Why were they so easy to turn with a riding crop, even when they had their own submissives?

“The dress is in your closet—blush is in this season, but I found you a gown in—never mind. Short heels, just enough to allow fashion some say, but you shouldn’t trip over the hem.” Calming Jane down was no longer her job description, and Darcy wondered if it was sad to say that she missed it? Pop Tarts, coffee, and sleep breaks were nicer than reading through one of Director Carter’s dossiers on Captain America and finding a reference to a Dr. Zola, who she had run a search on. His background check—well, things that were in Agent Romanoff’s dossier had parallels and overlaps with Dr. Zola’s early work. “We’ll go to Bloomingdale’s tonight, giving them just enough time to send your new suit over in the morning. The memorial is in the afternoon.”

“Are we going to do drinks tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately, Erik, Thor, and you will have to do shots by yourself. If you can talk Pepper into letting Stark join you, it may be amusing.” She would be trying to figure out where Dr. Zola’s work fit into the puzzle that was Captain America. Why was her computer beeping? “I’m sorry, Jane, I’ve got to shoo you out. One of my agents needs to report. Remember, I’ll pick you up for our appointment from your lab.” And Darcy had an application that tracked Jane’s smartphone for the sole purpose of keeping track of the woman.

* * * *

“Does anyone know where Cap is?”

“For the fourth time, no, Tony! Neither I nor anyone else has seen him!’ Black Widow spat through the radio. “I would like to know what Hawkeye sees.” Iron Man in an Armani suit, tailored to his body was only Tony, even if the suit had an undershirt of a new Kevlar-silk mix. Thor was wearing the same in his tunic.

“Not much. The memorial’s a tiny Grecian temple. Why is it here? I get the temple, eight support pillars, on memorial altar, and an everlasting flame, but why in this park?”  Howard had brought Tony to this park to teach him about his history when he was a boy. Gods, he wanted a drink, and instead he was on security duty with Pepper across the sea of chairs, talking with someone else instead of standing at his side. Who’d have thought he’d be romantically involved with another Dom?

“The park was the closest, safest place to the courthouse then. The protestors weren’t allowed on the courthouse ground.” Tony remembered and explained to  Clint, and through him, everyone else. “Apparently, earlier in the trial, some of the protestors chained themselves to the courthouse.” He’d met one of the protestors through his father. She had been a spitfire with twinkling green eyes and hair like spun sugar.

“They died there.” Thor was also on the ground, a foreign dignitary in his formalwear. It was certainly exotic, but not as exotic as the Consul from India. “For a cause they believed in, one that is now celebrated? That is a good place to die, then.”

“Why does Bruce get to be on the computers?” Tony whined to everyone.

“Tony.” Nathan smiled, bowing slightly. Tony schooled his features and returned the courtesy with a deep bend. “Thank you for your help with this project.” Nathan Bartholomew had been a classmate, the child of a family close to the Starks. Now as adults, Tony had privately contributed to the man’s campaign for Senate, and now he remained somewhat friendly with the man.

“Nathan, Jason, it is a pleasure to see you both again. Is Audrey with you?” His old friend had an heir, something that he was avoiding bringing up around Pepper. If she wanted one, they could have one, but he would prefer to feel more mentally stable before adding another element to a family already two Doms strong. His parents had destroyed each other in their fights.

“With her grandmother.” Tony nodded. “Did you attend with anyone?”

“Pepper is here with me.” Jason tilted his head while Nathan laughed.

“I knew it!” Tony shook his head. “So when’s the wedding?”

“Am I missing something?” Jason asked. “I am missing something.”

“Unfortunately.” Nathan glanced at his watch. “We have to start. We had a surprise addition to the program, so I need to make sure everything is going well.”

* * * *

“Seventy five years ago, Audrey Stevens and John Bartholomew were approached by Elise Smith, a Domme who ran a small network of safe houses for abused subs. They had already met socially, as Audrey and John ran a free clinic where Avery Sands worked as a doctor. A client had been charged with murder. From there, the cause snowballed among those concerned by the case.

On the last day of any trial, a police officer asked Audrey Stevens why she bothered.”

“He shattered her jaw after she answered, sparking the violence that killed eight protestors.”

“One of those protestors was my grandfather, John Bartholomew. Seventy five years later, much of the world has changed”

A man in Navy dress whites stood forward.

“Avery Sands, retired Navy Doctor. Husband, Dom, grandfather.”

A woman in pale pink spoke, her voice strong.

“Latham Schmidt. Librarian. Submissive. Jew.” She gulped in air. “Aaron Wentz, jeweler. Submissive. Jew.”

“Michael Keats. Dom. Professor of Law. Great uncle.” This was a woman in academic robes.

“Nathan Anders, nurse. Undeclared.” A man stood, sharp black suit and shiny shoes. His hair matched, hair cut with a ruler and held in place with something strong.

“Audrey Stevens.” The submissive speaking had gorgeous ankles, encased in leather straps. Everything but his hands was hidden by highly traditional black veils, tunic, and trews. “Domestic abuse survivor. Nurse. Submissive. Beloved aunt.”

“John Bartholomew.” Elise Bartholomew was a stunner, grayed black hair braided into a crown. “Husband, collared submissive. Father. Grandfather.”

“It has been seventy five years since Timothy Kearns’ sentence was announced. Twenty five years ago, the case wasn’t even taught in school. A relative sued the police officers involved for financial support of one of the two protestors chronically injured in the vicious attack. He asked the pittance necessary to bury his mother, whose injury eventually killed her. It was granted as the first public show of remorse and restitution given by the city.”

“To Timothy Kearns, who wrote to my late mother that, “while the days seem long in the short width between his death and mine, I regret only that others will die. Elise Smith’s support and the support of the network have given me the belief that one day the end of abuse will no longer be death.”

“Too many still die of abuse, or live with souls broken, but the dreams of Elise Smith, John Bartholomew, and Audrey Stevens have changed the world.”

The speaker introduced a musical group. As DePaul’s Lament played, Tony toggled with his earpiece.

“Has anyone heard from Cap?”

“No sign of Rogers.” Bruce’s voice was quiet, disturbed. “I hadn’t quite understood where he was coming from.” Bruce’s dynamic was an open fact. The Hulk, on the other hand seemed to thankfully be beyond dynamic. Being adynamic was often seen as a mental illness by the average person, Tony knew, which probably had fueled some pain in the man’s psyche evaluations.

“Was the man in the dress making fun? My brother and I once snuck dressed thus into…”

“No, Thor.” Natasha explained. “Cotton trews, tunic, and veils are highly traditional. Once, when Steve was young, an uncollared sub wearing such would be considered to be highly respectful and respectable. The head veil would have been the least he saw every day, though within his lifetime it mutated to an artistic veil upon a hat for most of the population.” Thor and his people being adynamic had certainly put the anthropologists heads into a spin when the people of Earth had realized it. Some of the right wing had called it proof that those of Asgard were demons, instead of assuming proper roles, being submissive or Dominant.

Tony rather thought that the gender split on Asgard was a very similar issue. Frigga had barely spoken in the presence of men who were not her family when the last diplomatic mission had stayed in Asgard.

“Now, the Obscurement is archaic. Only the most traditional wear it.” Bitter chills danced though Bruce’s voice. “The general wanted me to wear a veil.”

“So how is your team?” Nathan asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Tony, you’re hearing in your ear, but you spoke aloud.” Nathan was always bright.

“Nate, aren’t you supposed to be backstage?”

“Naw, next is a few words from one of those involved.”

“There are surviving protestors?” Tony had thought that he’d attended the last funeral three years ago. Of course, he had imbibed a few belts of scotch first, and his memory might be fuzzy.

“No, a friend found the journal of Audrey Stevens’ nephew. He was there, the only one who survived without a lengthy hospital stay. An asthma attack dropped him to the ground. Steve Rogers took some kicks to the ribs, but the cops thought he was dead and left him alone.”

“Whoa.”

“Yes, I never met him, but Mother remembered him as a frail young man that HATED bullies. He died during the second World War, shortly after losing his best friend.” Nathan left smiling, as always. It probably helped him become a politician, Tony thought.

“The next speaker will  be reading from the journal of an eyewitness of the attack.”

The Obscured man took the podium, a series of images flashing behind him.

* * * *

 

“Belagazzo and the academy were supposed to calm you down!”

“So my personal time is of concern to SHIELD?” The dredges of anger left from being denied personal time had boiled away, leaving the coffee grounds of temper and regrets but no remorse. Steve mainly felt an itch in his pulse, a wish for the quiet of his apartment and the paint that awaited him there. “I requested the day off.” Fury bristled across the table.

“It was mandatory!”  
  
“I called in sick. If you wish, I can produce a doctor’s note.” From his psychologist. Fury was not the master of manipulation that Coulson had been, though he clearly wanted the breadth of information that the former Head of Personal and Discrete Services had had.

“Your team wondered where you were.” The eye patch moved as Fury’s superficial temporal vein throbbed. Trying to use the team’s questions to force an answer was a mark of desperation. For a man who preferred to know everything, the lack of that capability unsettled him.

“I fully briefed my team on the plan for the memorial. While I may not have explicitly informed them of my plans, if they could read a battle plan, they would have understood. Besides, I could have been there quite easily if they actually needed me.”  The Avengers were forming into a coherent organization now, and his understanding of SHIELD before the attack on New York was that the group had been one of the best in the world. In the wake of Loki’s damage, Fury’s omnipotence and omniscience had been shaken. Steve had built the Commandos, and learned that part of the struggle of creating a working unit was in accepting that all members of the unit had flaws. Working together to use and eliminate those flaws was a solution that Director Fury had not learned, as the man had been placed high in SHIELD’s hierarchy immediately after he had been wooed to the organization.

The man would learn, given time.

“This is what Director Carter meant about stubbornness.” Steve had thought the event rather cathartic actually, even if Fury didn’t pull the pieces together. He had awoken this morning to a messenger at his doorstep with flowers. Agent Lewis seemed to be following in Agent Coulson’s footsteps. He’d heard that the young Agent had been recruited personally by Agent Coulson following Thor’s first descent to Earth. The former college student had been placed as the man’s admin and now ran the department.

“Dr. Erskine told me that being stubborn was one of my best traits. He was right, it’s kept me alive.”

“The Bartholomews are our strongest supporters. If the Senator had not supported me in the Avenger Initiative, it would have been scrapped, even after the Chitauri attack.”

“If you are worried about the Bartholomews taking offence Director, don’t be.”

“Rogers?”

“History doesn’t say everything. The Howling Commandos are revered now, but during the war, our commanders sometimes didn’t even allot us food. Politics and a good dose of pragmatism kept my men fed, clothed, and above all, alive. Being an integrated unit meant that a lot of shit was thrown our way that we didn’t rightly deserve, but we managed to handle it. Howard could pull a miracle in a heartbeat, but manage not to offend everyone? There’s a reason that our unit was very popular with every other group we were ever stationed with in the field.” When you raided a HYDRA camp, Steve added, seizing every bottle of liquor in the camp and redistributing it helped. “I paid a call to the Senator and Lady Elise the week before the event and tendered my reasons for not attending. Little Audrey is adorable.”

“What?” The sputter cracked the air. “How?” There was a persistent itch between his shoulder blades and Steve shifted to try and adjust for it. Fury’s glare didn’t lessen. “Captain?”

“SHIELD does not form the whole of my life. I met Nathan through a friend.” Well, actually his aunt Audrey had been close to Nathan’s grandfather and grandmother. “He gave me his home address and contact information.”

“So the invitation on my desk for the Avengers, Agents Coulson and Lewis, as well as their plus ones?”

“Does not surprise me. The Lady Elise is one heck of a woman.” Willowy, tall, wore her hair up in a bouffant crown.  Fury couldn’t quite figure out the words to rebuke him, Steve figured. Steve had fully followed procedure.

“Will you be bringing some milquetoast sub from the Academy as your plus one?”

“My relationship with Master Dominick is educational, not personal. And frankly, none of you business. Besides, the Lady Elizabeth and Lady Elise know me too well.” They had known Bucky, and Elizabeth had _known,_ with that terrible understanding of hers.

*****

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

 

“Good Morning солдат. Welcome back.” [soldier]

Boris was not there. Boris had always been there as he awoke. This man was bearded, broad of shoulder and cut an impressive figure in a jacket with a military cut. He also favored his right should and smelled slightly of tungsten.

Poor Boris.

“I am Davros, former Captain KGB. I currently front a group of individuals interested in the prestige of Mother Russia.”

“Mother Russia has a mission for me, or you do?” The soldier had performed many more missions asked of him by men who spoke for Russia than missions for Mother Russia.

“It will be on American soil. They are hosting the United Nations for a discussion of individual rights. Russia and the Americans will be speaking on other subjects, but the United Nations wishes a clear and concise outline of individual rights. The Americans will not sign because they do not wish to be held by the rules that they hold others too, and why should Mother Russia agree to something that we already believe in?”

The soldier looked past the self important man, into the corners of the room around a portly body.

“The traitor who calls himself President and the American present will be meeting. Their delegations will be speaking about mutual disarmament for the length of the conference.”

The corners of the room were shining white, and the man had little spatters of blood on his sleeve. With the dark blue coat and the stink of gunpowder… definitely poor Boris. A technician who read romances while he slept, keeping watch over the body of a frozen weapon.

“One of the things they will speak of is mutants, the growing mutant threat. There is at least one school for the freaks in the US, and our President wishes to have outlines of the uses of those freaks and similar freaks of such as the Avengers in war.”

Antonov had also fisted his hands like that, thumping them on the table to emphasize a decision.

“You will destroy the alliance before it can happen. Wreck havoc upon them that is your mission. Any questions?”

“ _Da._ Where is Natasha?” The light burned on trousers and a shirt, white in a white Red Room. “What is the year?”

* * * *

“Hello Dominick.” Darcy rather liked her chair here, comfortable chairs always seemed to be few and far between at SHIELD, whether she was on or off of the Helicarrier.

“Agent Lois, wasn’t it?” Dominick Belagazzo was sprawled out against his office chair. “You’re late to the party.”

“You know damn well that I’m right on time, Maitre.” He was trying to imply something with his sprawl and purposeful mispronunciation of a name he knew, but it wasn’t working. “Agent Hill’s team was accessing physical safety, I’m--”

“You are handling. Does the Captain know that you’re his handler?” Two files, an annotated bill, and a grocery list were shifted into a small bin marked ‘out.’

“The Avengers barely seem to realize that they’re being managed.” Darcy fingered the ring that her parents had given her so long ago. “I am not worried about discretion, Dominick. Your House is known for it.” The finger under the ring—well, the ring is large enough to hid the enlargement on the bone. “I am worried about emotional safety. If he is hurt…”

* * * *

“And the issue is truly of Russia, Mother!”

Bruce had never thought to be sitting under a three tiered chandelier that shone like a waterfall of reflecting crystals, listening to Elise and Nathan Bartholomew argue politics.

“You are allowing the right wing to pull the potential of the United Nations’ summit right out from under you, Nathan!” The matriarch of the Bartholomew family had spent three nights in jail for slapping a police officer. “This could allow international recognition of human rights!”

“Ma’am, Senator.” The Captain had been seated next to the Lady Elise for dinner. Bruce had thought it an honor until the Lady playfully leered at Cap, who had proceeded to blush a gorgeous rose. “If I may?” Natasha, as well as Clint, Thor, the Senator’s husband and daughter leaned in to the adult’s conversation. “While I could never claim to have a Bartholomew’s vast understanding of politics, I believe that an individual mandate of human rights was written immediately following World War Two. The United States refused to sign, because it allowed no qualified rights. Since then, it has been ratified by every other first world country other than the US and Russia. Every decade. France and a few other countries actually had equal rights before the war!”

“What Cap is trying to say politely is while the US may talk the talk, there is very little chance that we would ratify that declaration this time.” Tony broke in. He had sat out most of the politics, unlike Natasha whom had observed. He, Bruce, Jason, and Jane got along swimmingly. The Senator’s Dominant was a mathematics professor at Columbia, and the discussion of string theory was certainly amusing dinner conversation. Jane especially liked to rant.  Unfortunately, Jane’s bossy little assistant was far more interested in the politics.

“Is the nasty Dom who was at the memorial going to be at the talks with Russia?” Audrey Bartholomew had met Darcy, and had since refused to let go of her hand. “He scared me.” The cute little blond head curled into Agent Lewis’ arms. Tony’s stomach felt like a herd of cats in search of an elusive mouse. Maybe he should spend more time with children, Audrey was adorable.

“Senator Draper was at the memorial?” The Senator had asked to be called Nate. Bruce had yet to manage calling Stark ‘Tony’ consistently. The Senator had one heck of a presence of power…’Nate’ wouldn’t be happening any time soon. Watching the sub struggle was an amusement that would have made Pepper unhappy if he’d giggled, though they would both enjoy his discomfort.

“She was there.” Natasha spoke. “With that fragile little bird that is her wife and submissive. I did not see a child, and the wife was not speaking.”

“I doubt she would.” Jason leaned into his submissive, held Nate’s hand. “Anna’s father was a hard Dom, but fair. Her mother was the first, but not the second. Anna’s mother is banned from many establishments. She has a bad view of submissives, which probably meant that she was disappointed that her heir was a submissive.”

“That woman is trouble. I heard that Draper fired one of her submissive staffers for leaving an abusive Dom.”

“That’s completely acceptable now,” Tony nudged Steve with an elbow. “A sub can go.”

“Stark, sometimes you’re worse with people than Howard was.” Bruce could almost see the huffy kitty that Steve had to have stolen that look from.

“You liked my dad!” Howard’s photos of the Commandos, once hidden in a drawer in his Father’s office, had assured him of that.

“He was amusing, intelligent, gave his sexual favors to many and his romantic favors to few. I liked that about Howard. He could also be self important, arrogant, and rude. Quite frankly, if the General hadn’t needed him, I doubt that the United States’ government would have approached him to work with them.”

“That’s not the story that was in the history books.” Darcy Lewis was buxom and brainy. A dropped jaw at the first often meant that the second slapped bureaucrats in the face. “But the flying car at the Stark Expo in 1942 isn’t mentioned much. Or that England and the United States were both running covert operation on Allied territories.”

“My. My.” Lady Elise smiled, rivaling the chandelier above the table. “Nathaniel, hire this one.”

“Fury would just love that.” Tony was grinning at the memory of Pepper’s face . “Stark Industries tried that. And failed.”

“I’m waiting for the right offer. Besides, Phil taught me the fine art of Fury-wrangling. It’s much more simple than wrangling scientists.” Darcy snarked back, before bending to adjust a shoe.

“So what do you think about the talks with Russia?” Steve leaned away from Tony’s elbow and towards the matriarch. “I know that you don’t approve of the lack of focus on individual rights, but some things about the talks worry me. First, the talk of nuclear disarmament is a ruse.”

“I agree.” The Senator chimed in.

“More politics?” Tony shook his head. “What did you think about Eppes’ latest work on the mathematics of attraction, Jason?”

"It’s not a new science, sorry for stealing your thunder, Jason. But it is a new approach. The math is organic, fascinating.”

“Oh, not a problem, Jane. I think that it’s an offshoot of something else he’s working on, something bigger.”

“Let the mathematicians speak on the science. I think that the main topic at the summit will be the two countries approach to extraterrestrial and superterrestrial life forms.” Darcy was nodding at Elise’s words. Magic and aliens were on the tips of everyone’s tongues. Without any confirmed mutants on the team, the so-called Mutant Issue hadn’t come up yet. Tony would hate to be in Westchester when the politicians in DC started connecting Charles Xavier, PhD and a consultant to the Senate Commission on Superterrestial Policy with Professor Xavier, Headmaster at the School for Talented Youth.

“Russia will ask that teams like the Avengers be shut down.” Darcy gulped back her words on the subject for Natasha’s. The woman knew Russia better.

“They can’t try it. The Soviets had their own program during World War Two, and I am well aware that it still survives.”

“The Red Room trained me.” Natasha tried to confirm Steve’s words, but he went forward.

“No, not the Red Room, or not _just_ the Red Room. This is something different. And still classified.”

He and Bucky had definitely known that the Russians had their own teams. The Commandos had met two of the Russians’ agents once, near Vichy. One of the Russians could fly, the other brought fire to the ground. When he sent the information on to General Phillips, the man had confirmed what he had guessed on the ground, and more. The General believed that there was a man, a Nazi separate from HYDRA with similar goals, who was trying to create men like these, women like these. Similar skills, not super soldiers but instead super beings. Terrestrial beings with the powers of legend.

 

* * * *

Darcy had earned her job on her knees.

Her high school diploma had been won with a blowjob—her calculus teacher was a jackass, and seeing one of the men and women who had helped make that illegal now brought back those memories.

No, Darcy had earned her job in a dark alley in Portland, her hands in Coulson’s chest, and his headset on her head.

Only Natasha knew that she had salvaged the fuck-up that had been Portland---well, no. Everyone knew that. Only Natasha knew that she had been in Portland for an interview with an orchestra there. That she had called SHIELD with the intelligence she had stumbled across while looking for the bathroom before her audition with her cello.

“Andy, you need more caffeine.” Getting to the Helicarrier after the party at the Bartholomews had been simple—catching a ride with the shuttle. To continue her informational search, she needed the supercomputer and closer access to the satellites she could use to anonymize her search. “Could you pick up a double-double, one mocha, a chai latte, and a triple shot espresso mocha frappuchino, plus whatever you drink. A black eye, if my eyes don’t fool me.” Andy was her intern, two days old, and on his first trip to the Helicarrier.

“Ma’am, we’re in the air.”

“It was part of Coulson’s contract. When Fury built the carrier, Coulson had to be within ten miles of a coffee source, not a cafeteria, at all times. Two floors down, we have one of two Starbucks where the baristas have to have level D security clearances.”

“Geez.”

“They’re very well paid, Andy. Everything except my triple shot mocha can be paraded under the nose of everyone else in the department to make them like you.” Darcy knew it would work. It worked on college students.

* * * *

Her sire had once told her that politics was a game of shadows fought with your enemies as allies for a ghost of a throne.

Allison Draper had buried her father twenty years ago. James Draper had fallen into his grave with a betrayed shout and a half-finished glass of Kentucky bourbon.

Eight months later, she’d taken his senate seat with tears and a dedication to ‘her dearest Daddy.’

Webster had bled so prettily that night, onto the white sheets of her bed. He hadn’t lasted long as her sub, but then again, not many had.

Anna had replaced Adrian, Webster’s replacement, three years ago. The pretty young thing had brought with her the alliance of her mother, three million dollars, and nearly half a billion in investments as a dowry. Allison thought Sharon Coltrane was perhaps the best part of the deal.

“Senator Draper?”

  
“Comrade Davros. How are things in Moscow?”

“I would assume that the politics are very stormy. I have procured a man to kill the pest in your side.” Across the Atlantic, the old fool shifted in his chair. Damn Soviets had abandoned the dynamic publically. If she could get a read on him, impossible through a webcam, she could have sent a toy, or some professional to control Davros. Her Anna kept Allison safe from that indignity. Well, her collar on Anna, and Arthur in a penthouse in New York. “Did the attacks work?”

“My information says that SHIELD remains puzzled.  They have, however, identified Ivanko’s traces in the engineering of those machines.”

“Thank you for having him expedited.” It had been easy to pull the strings to have him released for political reasons, as he had been released to Russia years before. Then, he had been sent to a gulag. Now, Ivanko was a courting gift between allies.

The man was a bomb in Davros’ hands. Allison had seen his psychological review.

God, her legs ached after all day in the Senate, and then the gym. Why wasn’t Anna holding them properly?

“Anna, to your knees, hold my feet higher.” Allison definitely shouldn’t have done 400 pounds of weights.  “You’re welcome, Davros. I will be at that meeting, so don’t let your dog get sloppy with this.”

* * * *

2012\. The USSR had fallen in 1989. While most of the Russian government had once been in power during the Soviet regime, the old guard was falling to cancer, cardiac disease, and the occasional impatient young politician.

Natasha was gone. She was a Romanoff, a female Romanoff—her family had been a threat to the Soviets as a potential rallying point for monarchists. Natasha was, as the Winter Soldier had pointed out to his handlers, a potential tool.

It kept her alive, initially.

Davros’ men were brusque, either well paid or actually loyal. Most were somewhere in between, the Winter Soldier guessed.

One had taught him to use the new version of a computer.

The Red Room was gone. The Sickle still existed. They now worked in the open, with new faces and the same mission. China and the United States had similar teams.

He had worked with Steve once on something like that.

Who was Steve?

The stump twinged, his arm twitching in response. It was rusting, the deep sleep did that. He had let go, and a man had tried to grab him. Save him. He had sobbed, the blond man, but a good Dominant kept his sub safe, and there was a collar in his bag for Steve.

Who was Steve?

The Soldier blinked bits of water away from his eyes. He was not the Dom that had fallen to keep his sub safe from harm anymore; he was Mother Russia’s arm.

Where was Natasha? She was a woman that the Winter Soldier knew, and was allowed to care for. He had trained the woman, placed her in a position to find safety with the enemy’s people.

*****

 

 

 

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four

_“_ _Every journey into the past is complicated by_

_delusions, false memories, false namings of real events.” Adrienne Rich_

The dreams always ended in explosions. Budapest was in flames, and in the smoke he could not find Natasha. Their Red Room handlers were breathing down his neck.

The soldier was in an alley, waiting for a scream of Natasha’s—Alexei, the name they had him use when he was in the field, and as another wave came, he could hear the snapping and crackling of electricity as parts of his arm failed.

It poured outside of the window, and the sweat trickled down his spine, pooling into a sodden mess where his back meant bed as the soldier rolled out of bed and nightmare both.

Hotels were usually his home after the soldier thawed, though some bivouac tents brought memories of two bedrolls placed together, a pile of gear in the corner next to a shield with a star that matched the one on his arm. The blond was again there, sprawled in his memories with his neck a bare line down a spine still crossed with the evening’s activities. The marks, his marks, were quickly fading. A grin on the man’s face as the Soldier had knelt beside him, pressing lip to lip, and a hand to a face suddenly stronger than his earliest memories of the man. Were they _his_ memories, or another set of memories, wiped away by his masters?

The man’s arm was outstretched in his nightmares. The man was grabbing, yelling, sobbing for whoever had first held these memories as that man fell, leaving them both alone.

Nightmares-of a man he had never met, in a life that the soldier knew not if he had lived.

Black Widow had gone with the American sniper in Budapest-ran from the Room and into a life that wasn’t periodically arrested by ice.

This hotel had big bay windows gazing out and into the storm. Underneath, the Soldier settled into one of the plush chairs. He ignored the ecstasy of a phantom man kneeling on a similar kneeling pad next to a much less comfortable chair near another window in a tiny garret, and opened his laptop.

“Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff.”

*****

 

 

 

“Budget.”

Director Fury’s eyebrow arched. Coulson was once the agent that would sit in on   these meetings with SHIELD’s American Senate liaison.

“I hate doing my own budget, Fury, why am I here?”

“Agent Hill, you are here with Senator Bartholomew and I to keep this meeting on track.”

“Phil was quite good at that.” Bartholomew looked snappy in a three piece suit. “First, closed projects?”

The list was produced and reviewed. It would be better if someone else was here in this claustrophobic room, Fury thought, helping out.

“What is Project Lazarus?” Bartholomew had never liked asking the easy questions.

“Project Lazarus is,” Hill looked through her notes, turning pages back and forth faster and faster. “Director?”

“Lazarus was Howard Stark’s pet project. He kept it on ice since the seventies for some reason—I didn’t know about it until this year when one of its project directors died. It rolled around in the Research department for awhile.”

“Fury, when you say ‘on ice,’?”

“I mean that Howard Stark found Captain America in the seventies and kept him on ice. None of his papers that SHIELD currently possess explain why, and Tony Stark won’t let us have the others—something about responsibilities.” Fury personally doubted that Tony Stark had gone through all of them, with the man’s Daddy issues and Obadiah Stone’s lingering influence, he would avoid them.

“It would have been more responsible to thaw him out when he was found.” Bartholomew was smart, Fury had to give him that.

“Maybe not.” Hill intervened. “Director, I think that you’re operating under a delusion. You have had passing words at the Captain’s attendance at Agent Belagazzo’s House without really understanding any of the reasons that he might attend.”

“It draws his attention away from the mission.” Fury believed that.

“I’ve read his original personnel file, Director, and I know several people at that House. Nick is handling the Captain’s training personally—Nick and an accredited psychologist. We simply didn’t do shit for PTSD in the seventies-Cap was in a warzone less than a year ago, one in which he lost his longtime companion and friend. Being an Avenger doesn’t help with any of that trauma.” She forced a breath out, pulled it in, and focused for a moment on the date she had scheduled for tonight. Hill compartmentalized that thought, and followed up her rant. “Mental health enforces focus, Director.  This is why you are the director, and Coulson was the Handler.” Coulson had actually saved their asses with the Captain, and keeping him with SHIELD. Stark had been Director at that point, and he remembered the Second World War. Soldiers had been shot for symptoms of PTSD in the field.

Argument ground to a halt, papers were shuffled and thoughts were filed.

The Senator broke the silence.

“Speaking of Coulson, his second either needs to be given a pay raise equal to their duties or a replacement must be found.” Hill watched him shake his head, and hoped that it wasn’t another uncomfortable issue. “I’m familiar with the person in question, and she does excellent work. She actually campaigned for me.”

“Miss Lewis was Agent Coulson’s assistant, and the only person left in that department who has full knowledge of the breadth of SHIELD”s operations—Coulson’s second died in New Mexico.”

“Is she trustworthy?” Bartholomew’s office may have dealt with her before, and they had had dinner a few nights before. “Of course she’s trustworthy, she was Coulson’s assistant. Her clearance was probably higher than Coulson’s second. Fury, have her moved up the pay scale.”

“Lewis designed the set of redundancy eliminations that you were so impressed with.” Hill decides to through that in to impress Fury.

“The 10% of costs, that set?”

“That was Darcy.” Fury nods at Hill’s words, and Bartholomew folds up his papers. “I believe that we’re done here, though I will say that you should give Agent Lewis a raise.”

“Consider me sold—though the Council may have different ideas.”

*****

 

 

“This would be much easier at the tower.” Tony complained. Being kicked out of SHIELD headquarters for the day, and the Captain deciding that the Avengers should meet here for their planning was an insult to his tower. Of course, he probably should avoid Nathan’s presence, given that he’d sent a singing floral presentation this morning as a joke. To be delivered to Nathan’s Senate offices.

Steve’s wood floor had a black half-egg in the center, hard holograms projected into the air and onto the walls and ceiling.

Up on a rafter, Clint pressed at one, pausing footage of the last attack in Queens as the camera panned the crowd.

“It looks to me like Cap was right, though. Tash, is this the same guy you saw in Brooklyn?” Clint circles his finger around the person he’s recognized.

Natasha was at the table with another half-egg projecting around her and onto the table itself.

“He’s wearing a scarf and a beret in that image, but—Jarvis, could you run image recognition on all Avenger related violence for the last few months? On this face—“Natasha enlarged the face into the air above the table.

“Hey, I know that guy!” Bruce presses a cup of coffee into Steve’s hands, keeping one for himself. “He was at the market where I pick up my tea—last week.” Steve was smiling, and Tony could understand why the man had so intrigued his father.

“And any others that show up more than once.” Natasha finished after Bruce’s interruption. This cooperative work, Steve thought, was best done away from SHIELD and Fury’s segmented mind. He wanted them to fight as a team, but still spoke with them, and about them, as individuals. Including during briefings.

“Do you think that the team is being followed?” Tony looks affronted, shoulders raised and nose furrowed. He grew up with paparazzi, but this?

“Miss Romanoff, I have eight matches to your query.” Seven faces join the gentleman in the raspberry beret.

“Thank you Jarvis. Could you please run those faces against Interpol and SHIELS’s databases?” Natasha growled at Steve’s interruption.

“They worked for the Red Room, Captain. That’s my territory.” Steve shakes his head, knowing other things that a spy might not.

“Fuck that, Natasha.”

“Steve,” Tony’s hands are gesticulating wildly through the air. “Calm down, she’s not trying to-“

“Your father held my collar as a favor to his friend, Tony. He never gave me an order in my life, or collared me with it as he could have.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony suddenly wants to go through that chest that he had had moved to the vault following his parents’ deaths, but Steve is still pissed. “What the fuck got your goose? Submissive, collar, what on earth?”

“That legal enslavement is no longer allowed, and was not inherited—shut up.” Steve gasps the words, slides down the wall. He sucked in a breath. Did he just come out? A fit of anger brought on by a session with Dominick about accepting his dynamic as well as his command position—that they did not have to interfere with each other. He had worried that Tony would try and take advantage of the collar that Howard had told him that Bucky had entrusted into his keeping until the end of the war, until Bucky had fallen in a snowy gorge. A collar that Tony didn’t know about.

“Wait!” Clint dropped like a rock. “Did you just say what I thought you said?”

The glares and answer made him step back.

“You mean that you were Howard Stark’s submissive.” Clint tried to understand. “The military only started accepting--” He shook his head. “No, you said that Howard held your collar, not that he collared you. He could have, if it was in his safekeeping, then.” It was akin to a Dominant taking their sibling’s submissive into their household for the sake of safety and occasionally sex. It had been illegal to be used for forty years without the full, uncoerced agreement of the submissive in question. It had only been possible for a Dominant keeping another Dominant’s collar safe before they gave it to their submissive. There was another form for a collared submissive, also illegal with coercion.

“Not.” Steve took a breath. “I am not talking about this now.” The low moan of JARVIS’ search beeped—he grabbed the exit strategy. “JARVIS, what have you found for me?”

“The operatives that Miss Romanoff had identified as Red Room have been freelancing. Until a few years ago, when this man--” Above the table and in the middle of the room a bearded face hovered “brought them together. Davros is a remnant of the Cold War—he is wanted by Interpol for questioning in regards to a chain of massacres in the province that he was assigned to as a KGB operative.”

“I remember this man. He was a possible target until policy in Russia changed-one of my handlers was very casually friendly with the man. More of a professional relationship with a great deal of wariness.”

“Could Davros still have friends in Russia?” Bruce asked. “In some areas of Russia--”

“Wait, you’re a submissive?” Tony tries to make the question stick again, only to be spoken over, his question left unanswered.

“Oh, there’s a huge possibility for that.” Steve stated. “Even during the war, Russia was fractious internally. Without a figurehead, the politicians there fight.”

“How do you?” Tony finally gave up and asked a tactical question.

“Know that? Tony, I was Special Ops—your dad made things explode, but I had to understand where they would do the most damage.”

Bruce snorted with laughter.

“My brother did both for the Warriors Three, Sif, and I, once upon a time.” Thor reminisced, speaking for the first time since he had found a platter of donuts set aside for him as they gathered.

“If this man caused these attacks, why?” Clint’s question is reasonable.

“The talks with Russia.” Tony spoke. “They are, as always, about weapons. The governments believe our teams to be weapons.”

“We are.” Bruce rubbed at his neck.

“Weapons that wield themselves.” Clint stated.  “Hulk, not so much.”

“Russia has three similar teams—they have had them since World War Two.” Natasha shook her head at Steve’s words, adding…

“The Fist is--”

“Fist is real, Tasha.” Steve remembered the dame—hair flamed like Black Widow’s, and her hands had frozen Bucky’s sleeve with a bump. “They are very good at staying away from voices that whisper. The Sickle has also been around a long time, but they are great deal more public.”

“Dad mentioned something once.” Tony looked at the man’s face. “Would he have the pull, this Davros, to have Ivanko released for diplomatic reasons?”

“If not that, then stolen from custody, if these are the men he counts as compatriots.” Thor’s hands flew as he read the biographies of the minions. “These men are scum, unfit to be the food of the sea’s serpents.”

“What do you think that he’s trying to do?”

“I think,” Steve exchanges a look with Natasha. “That a better question is ‘who is he working with?” The USSR fell twenty years ago, and boundaries between states and countries had changed over the years, as had friendships between them.

*****

“We need to fire Melissa DeBussch.” Darcy had to switch gears. With a barely functional department she could theoretically delegate the task. This was a task that she did not want to delegate. The woman was an affront to those she protected, as well as her family’s strengths.

Coulson’s chair was not as comfortable as it had looked, and sitting in it implied using a sword to fight the battles, and carrying the shield to defend the people of SHIELD. The man in the seat had to know everything, and be able to do everything as needed.

Today’s dragon was a psychologist on the Helicarrier. Three complaints had been filed, and of the complaints that hadn’t, one had been the perfect excuse.

“She just signed paperwork to commit Agent Johns into treatment—conversion therapy.” When Andy had come to Darcy with the results of the tap on DeBussch’s computer, it had taken her away from her investigation into Davros’ domestic and international ties. The search that she was using the Helicarrier’s supercomputer is nearly finished, and Darcy can read more and more references to the Red Room in Davros’ files. The man had managed to make many enemies, and the only reason that he could have had access to their facility is because of those enemies, few are left that would pay attention to the security of a failing experiment.

“Hill, I want this fixed.” Darcy needs Agent Johns as a competent, fully capable member of SHIELD. There had been a victim of conversion therapy at her parent’s commune, and while Ilse had been kind, she was not functional. “Do not make me go to Fury about this.”

“She’s a psychologist, Lewis, Dr. DeBussch can prescribe therapy as she sees fit.” Hill is in charge of the more active role of making SHIELD run like a well oiled engine. Today, she is wrong. Dead wrong, that prescription has been the outcome of these encounters in the past.

“Conversion therapy was blacklisted by the APA in 2002 after more than three hundred charges of neglect, physical abuse, dynamic abuse, and sexual abuse were brought against a variety of licensed therapists. It is no longer recognized by the APA as a necessary tool for a psychologist working with an adynamic patient.” Darcy had been in high school when the legislation passed. Her history class had gone silent, some kid reading the news out of the newspaper. “Agent Johns is adynamic, not mentally ill, which was also confirmed in 1998, four years before the banning of conversion therapy. Treatment is invalid as he is not ill. Counseling about lifestyle issues may be in order, but treatment is not needed.” Darcy had heard that Liberty Avenue, the Castro district in San Francisco and a lot of other of the so-called ‘adynamic villages’ had thrown parties in the streets.

Hill’s smarter than Darcy sometimes gives the Domme credit of. She’s a strong woman, kicking ass and taking names, and Coulson had thought that Hill would need just a few more years until she could stand as Director when or if Fury ever retired.

Maria Hill had tilted her chair back to look up at Darcy, nodding as she speaks. “Agent Lewis—what have you done?” That’s another sign. A good leader can sometimes see that the necessary steps have already started, that all they need to do is okay a personnel move that had actually started.

“Agent Hill, we hired Dr. DeBussch under the assumption that she was a psychologist. Given that her license to practice was revoked an hour ago due to ethical infractions, we cannot employ her in good faith.”

“How is your friend at the APA, anyway?” Hill asks. Actually, Andy called Darcy’s contact over there…the intern may need a raise. Or at least a stipend that covered more than food, quarters, and utilities.

“Megan is fine. She has the MP4 file that is in your inbox. She also expedited the paperwork.”

“Send up the paperwork with a courier, Agent Lewis, and I’ll have Fury sign it.” Hill’s smile is a work of art, gorgeous and terrifying at the same time. Coulson wasn’t afraid of her, but then again, he didn’t gain his confidence from pomegranate red lipstick and the tazer in Darcy’s purse.

“Andy should be there as we speak. Also, I’ve taken the liberty of having DeBussch’s quarters packed, and a place in the brig prepared for her for the night.” That’s right, peons, worship at the boots of a woman on a mission! Darcy’s done this with barely an hour and a half taken away from her threat assessment of the Red Room, Davros, and that niggling feeling about the upcoming convention.

DeBussch won’t practice in the US again, and Darcy’s putting Andy on her trail. The APA would appreciate learning about other victims, and where exactly the bitch was referring patients for conversion therapy.

*****

“No, Tony!” Pepper’s heels were on his father’s desk, Tony assumed. All he could see was boxes and boxes without complete labels or any labels at all.

“Why was my dad such a crappy record keeper?”

“Tony, you look like Winnie the Pooh.” He knew what she was doing. Trying another attack, break his concentration and then circle right back around with a new effort. A better effort. One that would work and pull him away from his father’s things and the potential that could be hidden inside of them.

“I’m not fat!” He pulled out of his father’s safe to glare at her, promptly sneezing as the dust met the office’s air. “Pepper, I’m not fat!”

“No, Tony, you’re not fat, and you’re certainly not stuck!” Pepper was trying to assure him. Petulance, Tony realized, was probably not appropriate for a grown Dom. “No, really Tony, you’re not going to tease the Captain about any of this.”

Whenever Pepper uses that tone of her voice, it struck a note along his spine. They’d once had a submissive go straight to her knees when Pepper had used it against Tony during an argument about what to do next with the girl.

It made Tony step back, think about the words on Pepper’s tongue, and renegotiate his thoughts. It didn’t always mean that Tony would change his mind, but another opinion was weighed when Pepper spoke. “But it’s so easy, Pep.” He could see the party now. The subs that he had tried introducing to his teammate, well, Tony now knew why that didn’t work. Pepper and he had ended the night sharing one of the more nubile. “Hey, what about Mikael—isn’t he single again?” It was a half-hearted question. Howard had only guarded privacy in the rare occasion when it was asked of him. The Captain wouldn’t want the word of his private dynamic spoken of.

“Tony, your father kept the Captain’s collar for most of his life, but to the Captain, it’s been barely six months since the man who was going to collar him died. Leave it alone.”

*****


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five

 

 The flying rubble crashed into the building two feet and change above where Black Widow had stood barely a second before.

“It’s as if they knew we were coming!” The next few words were in Russian, and Steve’s memory of the language was what he had been taught in the army. He wasn’t aware that it was possible for a woman to survive doing that—though it would explain the third thug from the left and her goat-like demeanor.

“While you two ladies chat, I could use some help here!” Thor was twenty feet away from where another group of goons were setting up gears and bars. “I think that’s—Thanks, Hawkeye-” The minions of the day had sprouted fletched neck piercings. “An EMP.”

“Hulk SMASH?” Bruce had taken shrapnel earlier, and now Hulk was enjoying bowling. Random goons did not like their new jobs as the pins. The large pieces of rubble being catapulted through the streets on New York were probably giving insurance adjustors headaches.

“Not the EMP!” Steve does not like the idea, but a machine that can destroy the electric pulses within electronics is well worth capturing and using against the enemy. HYDRA had a similar view on life, and brutalizing their facilities with the weapons that they had developed had a particularly sweet taste.

“Cap, what are you talking about?” Tony adores flying in his suit, and unlike Thor, he can serious damage elsewhere while flying. Steve thought that the man had a better view than he did of the complex that they were attacking, even considering the time they had spent with their handler’s information on the complex. Somehow Darcy had managed to find the original floor plans of the warehouses, and any subsequent alterations that were registered with City Hall.

That was odd, considering the pure number of warehouses in the city of New York and the fact that this particular set was built in the late eighteen hundreds. How had she managed to find the needle in that haystack? Tony had been muttering about the pure number of shell companies that had been used to purchase the warehouses.  Of course, the interesting thing to Steve was that villains had bothered to buy their new lair. Over the past few months, the Avengers had noticed a definite trend towards most minor villains preferring to squat rather than pay utilities or rent bills.

They probably even talked about it: minor ways to be evil in your everyday lives. Also: steal your internet and cable television from the neighbors.

“Think about it, Iron Man.” Cap pivoted, blocking the Black Widow’s back as she shot at yet another goon. “An EMP can fry electronics. Everything in New York is electronic.”  Of course she caught the goon. Another tried to rush them, and had an unfortunate run in with a vibranium shield. Howard’s work was superb, but the blood stain was regrettable. Steve stepped over the unconscious body on the ground. “Hawkeye, what do you see up top?”

“Port Authority’s security is focusing on search and rescue, as well as evacuation efforts. A few officers are creating a perimeter around the area of the initial explosion.” Three more goons found themselves with terminal tracheotomies, and the EMP was now alone again.

“Widow, would you care to commandeer that EMP-aim it at the original site, and anything else that makes you twitch?”

“Da, Captain. And Ivanko?” Steve had no regrets. The man might have valuable secrets locked in his head, but he was of no use to the Avengers if he found himself alive and in the wrong hands. This was the perfect case to prove his point, as Ivanko was given a political release, and then designed machines that caused death, carnage, and insurance nightmares throughout New York City. Natasha would make the right choice.

Also, an EMP to the chest might remove any machines from Ivanko. Steve shuddered to think what would happen should Iron Man or War Machine ever choose to side against the Avengers. He had read the mission reports on the damage that Ivanko had attempted to do to Tony in an attempt at revenge.

“Feel free.”

“Some of the security guards have Geiger counters. They’re getting stronger readings closer to the explosion site.” Hawkeye shouted, having caught the news on his radio. “Sorry about the shouting, but radiation poisoning is--”

“I’m also getting readings from the suit. Hawkeye’s right, it’s not anything to ignore.” Iron Man was still in the sky with his eyes on the ground, but Steve knew that the radiation counters in the suit were far more advanced than any that the security guards had to check freight. Tony’s father had worked with some of the men who had died on the Manhattan Project. Steve doubted that Tony would not have learned from his elders.

“More specific than radiation, Iron Man?”

“Of course. It’s neutrino energy, the same stuff that Vanko used when my dad and he were considered the best minds—Hammer couldn’t get his hands on it, Captain.”

“But a Russian, ex-KGB could get his hands on neutronium.” Black Widow spoke into her headpiece. “I know of at least three black market dealers—also, the Red Room had stockpiled some things.”

“I think when we get finished with all of this; I’m calling my contact at Fist, passing this along.”

“Captain, I have found him!” Thor yelled. “Is this not the man you were looking for?”

The carapace of a suit had protected his body from being crushed, but beneath scraggly grey hair and a trimmed goatee, the man was out cold.

“Well, I guess we found who their scientist in this was, and we guessed it correctly as well.”

*****

 

 

“You captured Ivanko.” Fury’s statement was rhetorical, as all parties knew the truth of the statement. “Thank you for that. I have, unfortunately, rather severe pressure from the Council to release him into the Russians’ custody. They assured be that he would be found a home in a gulag, far from any technology. When we tried to locate him, we ran into some serious road blocks.”

“I understand.” Steve assured. “However, I’ve contacted an old friend about Ivanko—were you aware that UNIT has a kill order on Ivanko?”

“It is,” not exactly news, Steve read on Fury’s face, “An old friend?”

“Did you think that SHIELD was the only organization with a similar mission? Britain has been invaded multiple times, and Russia has several organizations, as does China.”

“I am aware.”

“But holding yourself aloof—it has been the fall of America, we joined the world stage as saviors, created an empire built on propaganda, and as a people we believed it." Steve watched, hammering out the words that he had learned through watching history unfold, and then being folded through history, not experiencing any of it until he emerged more than seventy years later feeling as if he’d lost that time within the span of an hour. It allowed him a certain comprehension of the long term effects of time elapsing.

Fury blinked.

“Holy shit.”

“Damn, you just lost your cool.” As always, the Avengers’ assistant broke the awkwardness with a quip.

Darcy’s a real people-person. Steve thinks that she’s a sub like himself—but her paperwork reads like his own.

Bold and brassy, “Director, you can’t deny the accuracy of that statement, even if it may not be the whole truth,” Darcy steals the stream of berating from Steve, and   softens the tone of it. “My friends at our Valiant-based compatriots echo the Captain’s understanding of Ivanko. I have arranged for his release into their custody following interrogation, as well as authorized the use of aggressive telepathy.”

“The council has not given you the authority to—“

“The council has no say, I have Coulson’s codes and authority—and am the only person on the Helicarrier with the knowledge to use them.”

“You’re the new lead agent?” Steve asked.

“I am not—“

“She is. Effective immediately, Miss Lewis is our head of Personal and Discrete Services. As the Avengers’ liaison, you report to her.” Fury Huffed. “Agent Lewis, you will have an office tomorrow.”

“My current office is fine. You will receive an outline and notes on everything.” Steve watched Fury leave the room. “Rogers, I need everything that you have on your operation thus far.” She turned in her chair. “Computer, I need a secure connection to Stark’s JARVIS immediately, and SKYPE with the Commodore on the Valiant, as well as Cooper in Wales.”

“Ma’am?”

“Now start talking, soldier.”

*****

 

 

“Am I the only one of us officially attending tonight’s summit?”  
The layout of the ballroom officially hosting Russia and the US’  talks was displayed on the wall, another spread across the table, a giant projection with a tactile interface.

“Not Steve Rogers was added to my roster of active agents—officially signed by Coulson, but as his assistant—“

“You did it this morning, signed and post-dated.”

“Natasha, you will be attending as Miss Potts’ PA—thank you.” Darcy stated. “Barton, you will be in security. Thor, I’ve arranged for an invitation for Jane, you will be her plus one.”

“Won’t that be odd?” Steve has always done espionage during war time—“Why would a scientist be there?”

“The governments like to rub their assets into the other’s nose-if Ivanko wasn’t wanted for murder, he’d be in a suit, being trotted out like I am.” Tony explained.

 “The Cold War never ended, they must remain friendly, but until the last of the old guard die—“

“That may never happen.” Natasha added to Tony and Darcy’s words.

“As I was saying, until the old guard dies off, the saber rattling continues.”

“You think that whatever Davros is planning is--” Steve stumbled for words. “Is sanctioned? That Russia?”

“Miss Lewis knows something.”

Bruce always quietly watches, and then quietly adds words of understanding. “Something about the attack.”

The silence fogs the room, filled with questioning glances, curious looks, and angry glares.

Steve watches Darcy spread her fingers on the table, shrug, take a deep breath, and let it out.

“A month ago, one of my agents in Moscow sent me intel on one of the Red Room’s technicians. She thought that he could be turned. Unfortunately, she found him dead at his workplace before that was completed.”

“How reliable is your intel?” Clint’s eyes are on Natasha’s clenched shoulders, white knuckles.

“Yelena is a deep cover agent, and her task was to turn Boris Yasmonov.” Darcy opened the file, and a sad little man peered out of spectacles placed at the center of a rounding face. “Boris was a technician for the Red Room’s cryogenics division.”

“Boris liked Romances—the cheesy ones with the Dom saving the sub—riding off into the sunset together. He would slip Alexei and I chocolate when we were there—you wanted him?”

“We were too late. He’s dead. And at least one of his charges was released.”

The Black Widow was not allowing herself the liberty of movement.

“What is this ‘Red Room’ that you speak of, Lady Darcy?”

“They are a mostly defunct Russian organization. The original organization grew out of the ashes of the second world war, salvaging some of HYDRA’s dregs.”

“I thought that they were founded in the fifties, as part of Russia’s Cold War initiatives-”

“That was when they started to make a name for themselves, Tony. They found Agent Romanoff then.” Darcy watched the woman shake at her words. “Their efforts at mental reprogramming were at the center of their program—they used it in the sixties to create undetectable sleeper agents.”

“How did this come to the attention of SHIELD?”

“To answer Steve’s question, does the name Dr. Ian Bond ring a bell?”

“Nuclear physicist, worked on the Manhattan Project as an intern. He wrote the catalogue of radiation that is used as a basis for most physics classes today?”

“That’s not all, Tony.” Bruce got it. “There was still talk at Culver when I was teaching about the day agents of the government came to take him away.” Bruce had probably joined him in the ranks of those stories.

“Bond’s submissive, Susan, confided in a friend that her husband’s dynamic was fluctuating. Her friend was actually a SHIELD lab tech, and there was a similar report recently about a woman in a sensitive facility who had broken.”

“Doctor Bond had been reprogrammed. Professor Xavier helped with the issue.”

“That’s—“

“That’s what the Red Room does, Captain. They started becoming defunct during the regime change because the KGB became very suspicious about some funding, as well as the fact that some of their agents went rogue.” Clint watched Natasha. “Some of us became white hats, while more are hirable for the right price. Clint found me in Budapest, brought me in.”

“And a few were kept in cold storage.” Darcy stated. “SHIELD has been very interested in the Red Room since Aurelie Lindisholme was taken and broken to pieces. We wanted Boris because he knew names, and they treated him badly.”

“Darcy, who was taken?” Natasha pushed. “You never knew Lindisholme.”

“In 1948, a photograph was taken in Moscow by an OSS officer. The man photographed was the sniper that eliminated a popular reformist.” Darcy paused, caught her breath. “Agent Romanoff, you were trained by that man—Howard Stark and Margaret Carter steered SHIELD’s creation for this day.”

“You think that Davros wants to use the Winter Soldier to kill Senator Bartholomew tonight, to kill the alliance tonight.” The Winter Soldier was a legend to Clint Barton, an assassin whose specialization was in not being seen. Death had come for the enemies of the Red Nation on the wings of a bullet fired from on high. When the man was seen, those who remembered him.

“No. Natasha, I know that for the first time, we can bring James Barnes in from the Cold.” He’d fallen into a snowy gorge and was lost to those that loved him through the presumption of death and the actions of others against his mind.

“Then your plan is wrong.” Natasha states it, the words that Steve wants to say but cannot. Bucky survived? It hits him like Mjolnir ringing on his shield, making every bone in his body shudder in realization. “It is impractical given what we know of the Red Room’s tactics with assassination.”

“What do you mean?” Darcy asks. “Ivanko said that Davros wanted the assassination to be flashy- an intimate assassination in the middle of the ballroom would be perfect for that.”

“This is the man called the Winter Soldier because he rose out of a frozen river, alive. Even with his mind shattered,” Steve has slumped in a chair as Natasha makes her point. “The man survived. The soldier is cold, his thoughts icy and his heart frozen, but above all, he wants to survive.” Bucky had survived the orphanage after his parents died. Bucky had managed to make sure that Steve had survived the orphanage. Not many submissives survived the orphanage. “An attack this flashy will go against the soldier’s instincts.”

“What do you think will happen?” Steve asked. “Even what I remember of Bucky says that a frontal assault would not be his choice.”

“I think that the Winter Soldier will choose a high spot.” Natasha knew that in her bones. “We did not catch all of Davros’ thugs in our attack on his warehouse, nor did we find him.”

“He seems to be the kind of idiot that charges in at the front of his army into an unknown situation.” Darcy notes, spinning the outlay of the building that would hold the next day’s meetings. “If the ballroom is here,” Darcy highlighted the four stories tall ballroom in the center of the building. “Davros and his followers could come up through the basement.” The projection of the building was pushed up as she went to the base of it. “The building has underground access to an unused subway tunnel.”

“You’ve been doing your research.” Tony spoke for the first time in awhile. Again, his thoughts echo Bruce’s, that their handler knows a lot more about this situation than Darcy had shown. “Did you know about this?”

“When Captain America’s thaw was handled by the Research Department, instead of by Personnel and Discrete Services, Coulson wanted a back up plan made. I wrote three of them, and started writing the Captain’s full dossier. Director Stark flagged the first set of photos of the Winter Soldier.” Darcy remembered finding those. “Agent Romanoff’s position with SHIELD would not have been possible if SHIELD had not been investigating the Red Room for decades before the altercation in Budapest. When I was creating your current dossier, Mr. Rogers, James Barnes was of interest to me. Our information on the Red Room said that their operations survived and were diminished. My hope was to take their program quietly by turning Mr. Yasmonov and having him turn over the Winter Soldier voluntarily.”

“The Russians would hate that.” Clint hated the idea of it. It was so simple. Coulson would have approved. “I thought that the Russians had disavowed the Red Room.”

“The current party line is that the government has no use for those who would use their comrades, especially through brainwashing.” Thor spoke. “That is what Lady Jane said when we were discussing politics and why she worked for SHIELD when the Russians had made a more distinguished offer.” His blond hair seemed to brighten as he smiled. “She said that ten years ago, the opposite thing happened, that the Russians grabbed a British scientist, Lindisholme, and changed her mind to suit them. The woman was ruined.”

“That nearly destroyed the Red Room.” Darcy showed the entrance to the building again. “Rogers, what do you think of allowing Davros his grand entrance?”

“Would we be controlling every moment of their attack?” Steve actually thought that it would be a good idea. “We could use SHIELD’s teams to force their movements.”

*****

 

 

  
Davros breaks through the security veil in the basement as Darcy predicted. In the ballroom, Tony glares in mute anger at the speaker.

“Today, Russia and the United Starts work in tandem to protect our people. The hatred and fear of the Cold War has been replaced by trust and respect,” Tony snorts at the Senator’s words. Pepper draped her hand over his and squeezes. Her nails bite.

“What is it?” This isn’t the only side conversation, let along the tenth because otherwise Pepper wouldn’t encourage him.

“Senator Draper’s the last person who should be speaking on the subject of peace with the Russians.” Perhaps it was her less than liberal position on equality that had kindled Tony’s distrust, but his research on her had only fueled a powerful hatred. “She’s one of the most outspoken American Supremacists on the Committee on Superterrestial Policy.”

“I knew she was on the far right of the Traditionalist party.” Pepper had come across the woman’s friends before.

“Draper has been known to say that she thinks that we should use all resources available to destroy any potential foreign threat.”

“Iron Man,” Pepper’s tied into their communication tonight, as is Dr. Jane Foster, and headquarters. “Do you think that that position may be why Davros is attacking here, now?” Darcy’s voice does not surprise him, though her request for his input does.

Darcy studied politics, and Tony could easily see that the death of Senator Draper could potentially—“Yes. If the bitch died at the hands of the Russians, it could resurrect the Cold War.”

“What about if Draper’s involved?” Thor is sitting next to Jane Foster, tugging at his collar. Jane is openly bored, a notebook open in her lap.

“One more team is taken.” Natasha reports. “Five men, they moved like they were trained in the military.”

“Davros?” Darcy wants more information. “The CCTV says that he’s moving up the east stairwell with five men. Do we have eyes?”

“We have eyes.” Clint’s further up the stairwell. “He hasn’t picked me up. One squad separated from him five minutes ago, do we have a location on them?”

“Team C intercepted them before they reached the boiler room.” Darcy confirmed. “Only Davros’ group and the target are left.”

“I’m moving to flank Davros.” Natasha’s squad moves with her.

“Black Widow, the west stairwell is empty.” Bruce is comfortable next to Darcy, two blocks from the action in the situation’s control room. “So is the east elevator. Are you able to pass as an attendee at the event?” He meant—‘are you presentable?’

“East elevator, copy.” Black Widow wouldn’t deign to give that question an answer, it is beneath her. “My agents got to have all the fun. Has the target been spotted?”

“Eyes say that he’s in the north stairwell, headed to the opera level.” Darcy has eyes there as well. The cameras will do for the time being; as she would rather not risk agents in body bags should they get too close to the Winter Soldier. “Cap is radio silent, repeat, Cap is radio silent.”

*****

 

 

 

   Steve could see the speaker from where he stood, hidden in curtains from the floor below. Officially, the opera level is closed to the public. None should be able to enter. A fast examination of the plans showed that the barrier was flimsy and the location perfect for a marksman. Bucky was the best in his field.

   Senator Draper continued to speak on the subject, and Steve hoped that the Winter Soldier will arrive shortly. While the Russian speaker was clearly invested in positive international relations, even the translator is having problems with avoiding sarcasm in relaying Draper’s words. Her audience is not enchanted with her drastic difference between her politics and her words.

Steve didn’t like her at the Kearns Eight memorial, and he liked Draper less now.

“I wasn’t aware that there were claims on the woman’s life?” Even with a heavy Russian accent, the voice remained the same. “I will give you a fair chance at her life, as long as my mission is done.”

“As we speak, the man who gave you your mission is in custody.”

“How would you know that?” Steve pulled away from the curtain, turning towards the man who haunted his dreams.

“How would I know that?” The Winter Soldier watched the man turn to him, turning his words. “How would I know that the team that is in place to capture the enemy of the state named Davros has succeeded?” He was tall, blond, and used a finger to point at the edge of the screen behind the woman that was not his target. “The red dots, what do they read?”

The Soldier concentrated, and pulling on memories dusty with age. “Four letters. One word. D-O-N-E.” He spelt it out. “Morse code?”

He had learned it as a boy in an orphanage with another boy in an orphanage.

The Winter Soldier was a son of Russia.

These two things could not both be true, the man thought. The blond man was familiar, with blue eyes that had looked up from the pamphlet and laughed. The boy with the smiling blue eyes had dashed out something on the table. ‘B-U-C-K-Y.’

“Who are you?” The man was an impediment in his issue. The Soldier needed more information to complete his mission.

“Steve.” The blue eyes are so sad. “Who are you?” Steve. The Soldier knew the name. The man in the Winter Soldier knows the name.

That name went with the man sobbing as he fell into the gorge, letting go.

He tapped it out with his foot, his prosthetic heavy. “I don’t know.” The floorboard spoke another name in dots and dashes. Another name. “The Winter Soldier.”

“Why does the floor say ‘Bucky’?” Steve asked. “I used to know a man named Bucky. A good man. A strong Dom.”

“Who was Bucky?” The Winter Soldier was an icy frame of mind. Mother Russia loved her sons, and she did not want to let them go. “Do you know a woman named Natasha?”

“I know a woman named Natasha. She said that the man called the Winter Soldier was a personality.” The Soldier felt it ring through him. Steve says the right words to him. “A personality of a man. A person. A Dom.”

“Who was Bucky Barnes?” The Winter Soldier asked. The name was the right name.

“How did you know that name, sir? He was a good man. A man who is now dead.” Steve was wrong. Dead wrong. Steve was never wrong, that’s what his gut says. “The best of men.”

“I’m.” He had to push the name from his mouth, force it out with sharp consonants and depth of breadth. The Winter Soldier was already retreating into his mind with ‘Natasha spoke to him,’ on the ghost’s lips. Who was he without the Winter Soldier? Who would he be again? “I’m Bucky. And you’re Steve.” The man smiled, a smile that he could see in the dreams of a Soldier, and that lived in the heart of a man. “My Steve.”

*****

 

 

“Well, it’s going to be a long road ahead.” Darcy turned away from the computer. “JARVIS, call Director Fury.”

Bruce watched her as she walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a Pepsi. She picked up another one, and he shook his head. He doesn’t need to add that to his body. It may not be a temple, but Bruce would still rather not poison the well.

“What did you do?” Bruce asked. “You knew more than you’re telling, Agent Lewis.”

“I always know more than I speak about, Dr. Banner.” She sat down in her chair. “For example, I know that Barnes’ childhood was harsh. The orphanage was rough, but he wasn’t beaten while he was there. His personality was hardy, but his dossier from the OSS thought that in times of stress, he would retreat.”

“You knew that he was recoverable.” Banner stated. “You knew that the base personality was still there.”

“I knew that.” What Darcy doesn’t and cannot say was that she had researched how to make sure that the Winter Soldier stayed dead. If he or Barnes was a threat, Darcy would neutralize it. “I also know that there’s a great deal of therapy in his future. In the Captain’s future as well.”

“Not with the SHIELD shrink?” Darcy grinned at Banner’s obvious distaste.

“No, I think former Agent Belagazzo has that under control.” As the head of Personal and Discrete Services, she’ll—“Why hello, Director Fury.”

“Agent Lewis. How did Operation Liberation go?”


End file.
